“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. ” She interrupted as Ann Veronica was about to speak again, with a bright contagious hopefulness. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “These are her rooms,” she said. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. “Please call me Carol.
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